Those Who Shatter

Chapter 2: Monsters and Drawings

Too often, I find myself standing in front of my father's orb just to make sure a Shade hasn't taken residence there, dragging him into the Void and leaving me behind, too.

Every orb in the hall holds within its shimmering glass the natural course of a soul's lifespan. When the orb vibrates on its shelf, it indicates its soul has become unstable. That some demonic Shade from the Void has attached to its host in attempts to feed from the distress present in the brain and drag that soul closer to the Void. I imagine that the Seers are accustomed to reading Robert James's orb. They probably even have some type of running joke within the hidden aisles of the Hall: Orb 21 in aisle 119 is pulling an ole' Robbie James again. Better get the fire extinguishers.

When I was eight, and my mom first began telling me of her duty to the world beyond the Peripherals, I began to watch for signs in the humans around me. Nervous ticks that twitched with indecision, haunted circles underneath the eyes, bruised with the crushing force of overwhelming choices. My father's tell is always his hands. They flit and tinker, stumbling and creating, shifting through gadgets and tools and electrical wires.

The day my mother died, the day Robert James hammered its letters into my ring, was the day I rushed home to find my father half buried in the twisted, cut wires of our electrical box, half-conscious with his brown hair staggering towards the ceiling.

No one knew if it had been intentional or not.

The Council had stepped in then, Serah Mallory herself releasing her manipulative skills onto the Shade tearing my dad's mind apart. I had only been ten years old, not nearly well-enough trained to handle an orb, let alone a Shade. And my own father had been my very first name. Being only human, my father had no idea of the demonic fight, of how closely he had dangled over the Void.

As for my mother's death, he had been told by Seers disguised as police officers that his wife had been a victim of a hit-and-run accident. They had even procured her mangled car from God only knows where, seeing as the last time she had been in the car was when she had picked me up from school earlier that afternoon.

"Secrets, Guinevere," Serah had whispered to me, stroking my hair. "You can't let him know."

Often, I doubt it all. But mostly, I find myself grateful that my father stills lives.

His orb almost shattered that day.

Which explains why, when I finally push open our front door and a clatter of trinkets crashing to the floor greets my ears, I shoot a look straight to my ring. I pause, halfway in and halfway out of the slim space cracked between the doorway and the bricked wall of our home's exterior. But the silver remains cool and unmarked around my lightly bronzed skin. For a second, I peer at it, but it still doesn't jump to life even after I flick it. Still, I slip through the door carefully, treading through the pile of junk that now litters our boxy entryway, watching closely for a flash of darkness, a shadow that moves a bit too fluidly, like oil oozing from a nozzle.

Then again, the sun still shines in the sky, so I suppose I have a few more hours until Shade began to make their appearance into our world.

"Dad," I call out, tip-toeing over a coil of lethal looking wire and old batteries that look partly melted, "what's going on?"

Cardboard boxes are scattered on the floor, marking a disorganized path to the kitchen from where I smell fire.

"I think I finally have it this time, Guin!"

One of our kitchen devices sits on its food-stained side as my father's hands prop it up. He spares a glance at me as I come to rest against the white granite countertop, arms crossed. His eyes are so wide that I can nearly see my entire outline in the muddy, brown pool of them.